


feelin' myself

by blazeofglory



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Family Bonding, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 20:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19731658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: Slowly but surely, Grace is learning how to enjoy human things.





	feelin' myself

**Author's Note:**

> ❤️ thank you to my darlings Corza and Theseus for the help and motivation!

“It’s been _ages_ ,” Allison says, then heaves a heavy sigh. “Since even _before_ the divorce, it’s just been me and my hands.” 

Vanya blushes, takes a long drink of wine, then asks, “I thought you and Luther…?” 

“It’s complicated,” Allison replies, something rueful in her tone. She refills both of their glasses and looks up, spotting Grace in the doorway to the kitchen, and she breaks out in a wide grin. “Mom! Come and join us.” 

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Grace says with a smile, though she does finally step further into the kitchen. Her daughters are both sitting at the table, wrapped in matching fluffy pink robes, one empty bottle of wine and one half-full bottle in front of them. “Would you girls like a snack?” 

“No, we’re okay, Mom,” Vanya answers, smiling too. “You’re not intruding, come sit with us.” 

“We’re having _girl talk_ ,” Allison adds eagerly. “You should be included.” 

“Oh, alright, twist my arm,” Grace gives in with a light chuckle. She pulls out the chair at the head of the table, right between her daughters, and adjusts her skirts as she sits down, folding her hands in her lap. “We haven’t all had girl talk since you two were teenagers. What were you two talking about?” 

They exchange a look, Vanya biting back a smile, and Allison shrugs. Allison leans an elbow on the table, leaning in closer to Grace as she whispers conspiratorially, “We were talking about sex.” 

The last time that Grace spoke to any of her children about sex had been when they were 13. She’d been teaching them _health_ that year, and they’d all sat in their usual desks with bright red faces, refusing to meet her eye as she taught them about their changing bodies. She taught them about condoms and birth control pills, about pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections, about being safe and healthy and abstinent. She’d told them then that they could always come to her to talk about any questions they had, and none of them ever had. 

Now, she smiles, and prompts, “Oh?” 

“I haven’t even been on a date with anyone since before all our time travel stuff,” Vanya says, smile slipping, and then she takes another drink. Allison reaches across the table, placing one hand on Vanya’s, and Grace is so _pleased_ to see her daughters being affectionate toward each other. They haven’t been this kind toward each other in a very, very long time. If asked, Grace could name the exact date and time. 

“Men are trash,” Allison declares, a bit louder than usual, which Grace attributes to all the wine. “We don’t need ‘em.” 

“True,” Vanya agrees. She turns her hand over, lacing her and Allison’s fingers together. She glances over at Grace, blushing again, and visibly hesitates before adding, “But I do really want to get laid.” 

“You don’t need a man to find pleasure,” Grace says, and both girls turn to look at her as one. “When I taught you health class, we covered the importance of loving yourselves, remember?” 

“I remember being mortified,” Vanya replies. 

Allison has a considering look on her face for a second. She fiddles with her glass, swirling the red wine inside it, as she visibly thinks over what she wants to say. Grace waits patiently. 

“I’m not sure I realized at the time that you meant masturbation,” Allison finally says, and Vanya giggles. 

Grace just smiles. “It’s very healthy for you.” 

“Mom,” Allison starts, then hesitates, then starts again, “Mom, do you… _can_ you…?” 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, sweetheart.” 

Allison glances at Vanya, who’s still giggling, and Allison lets out a quiet huff. “Do you masturbate?” 

“Oh.” That gives Grace pause-- it’s not something that’s ever occurred to her before. Without even realizing it, the smile slips from her face. “Well, I suppose I don’t need to. I don’t run quite the same way that you kids do.” 

Vanya’s giggles trail off and they’re both looking at her with something like concern. Allison takes a long drink of wine and Vanya nervously tucks her hair behind her ear, both unsure what to say. 

“It’s alright, girls,” Grace is quick to reassure, carefully fixing her smile back into place. “Don’t you two worry about me, I’m just fine.” 

“You’re always taking care of us,” Vanya says softly. “You deserve to take care of _yourself_ sometimes too.” 

Allison nods eagerly. “Self-care, Mom. It’s important.” 

“Self-care?” Grace echoes. “I don’t understand.” 

“Just little things to take care of yourself,” Allison explains, leaning in close again. “Like, taking off your makeup and letting your hair down. Reading a good book and taking a long bath. Masturbating. Stuff like that, just things that feel nice.” 

Grace tilts her head, considering. “I suppose I could try.” 

* * *

After the children have all gone to bed and Grace has made sure that everything is clean and the doors are locked, she finds her way back to her couch and her paintings. Normally, this is the time where she sits down and charges for the night-- but tonight, with Vanya and Allison’s advice in mind, she doesn’t retire for the night quite yet. A thrill of nerves runs through her at the thought of breaking her routine, as illicit and exciting as the first time Diego had taken her on a walk outside of the house. 

Grace heads to the bathroom that the girls share; they’d told her exactly where to find everything she’ll need. She glances down the hallway before she closes the door, double checking that no one is questioning what she’s doing. Even without Mr. Hargreeves around to keep her in check, she still feels like she’s breaking the rules. 

As Allison had promised, there’s a soft pink robe hanging on the back of the door and makeup wipes waiting on the counter. Grace takes off her heels, and then with well practiced fingers, she unbuttons and unzips all of her layers, carefully hanging her dress up on the hook, smoothing it out to avoid wrinkles. She dons the robe, shrugging into it easily, and she considers herself in the mirror as she ties it closed. It’s soft, comfortable and breathy, in a way that none of her other clothes are. She’s never owned a robe, or even pajamas, and she quickly decides that she likes this. Though, she does look a bit silly in her cozy robe with her hair and makeup still done and her pearls still on. 

First, she takes off her jewelry, setting it aside on the bathroom counter. Grace has, of course, had lots of practice with putting her hair up and taking it down. But it’s always been done as a _necessity_ , putting it up in the way that Mr. Hargreeves programmed her to, and only taking it down and redoing it on the rare occasions that she somehow became disheveled. She methodically removes all of her bobby pins, setting them aside on the counter, and her hair tumbles down around her shoulders. She lets out a soft sigh as she cards her fingers through her hair, relieved to let her scalp relax after having her hair tightly pinned for so long. 

It’s never occurred to Grace before that she could leave her hair like this-- but as she slowly brushes it out and watches herself in the mirror, she thinks she may just like it _better_ this way. Allison has always preferred to wear her hair down, and Grace has always thought she looks lovely that way; now, Grace thinks she may just look lovely too. 

Next, Grace uses the makeup wipes and washes her face, gasping softly at the feeling of the cold water touching her cheeks. It’s jarring, her skin is tingling, but she _likes_ it. When she dries her face with a soft towel and looks in the mirror again, she looks… different. She almost doesn’t recognize herself. 

Without all the makeup, the perfectly pressed dresses, and carefully coiffed hair, Grace looks almost human. 

Though Grace has always had access to mirrors, she’s never found much need for them. She looked the way that Mr. Hargreeves wanted her to look, she did the things that he wanted her to do, and that left little freedom to do anything frivolous, such as study her own reflection. But now, she has all the freedom she could ask for. The word _freedom_ still does not come easy to her, but with every trip outside and every deviation from her routines, she is learning to embrace it. 

Grace looks in the mirror and she _likes_ the way she looks. She doesn’t look unnaturally perfect anymore, she doesn’t look like a woman from another era; she looks comfortable in her robe, she looks clean with her face devoid of makeup, and with her hair down and a smile that isn’t forced-- Grace looks and feels truly _free_. 

Once she’s looked her fill in the mirror, Grace leaves the bathroom, leaving her dress and shoes behind to be dealt with later. She was programmed to pick up after herself and the children, but Vanya had insisted that cleaning up was _not_ part of self-care, and Grace is determined to do this right. So she leaves the mess behind and heads back to her couch, where her paintings hang, waiting for her. 

They look beautiful and peaceful, as they always do. 

But tonight, she isn’t thinking about them. 

_Be gentle with yourself_ , Allison had said earlier. _Find out what makes you feel good._

 _Try touching your neck and your nipples_ , Vanya had added, blushing again. _All the sensitive spots._

With her daughters’ advice in mind, Grace sits down on the couch and unties the front of the robe. This may very well be a fruitless endeavor-- she’s never experienced sexual attraction before, after all. Her body may not be capable of that sort of desire, both mentally and physically. But Grace won’t deny that it’s an appealing thought. To experience something as human as an orgasm… well, she thinks she’d like that. 

The chilly air in the mansion is startling against Grace’s bare skin-- she’s never been this exposed for longer than it takes to change dresses. But _now_ , she’s sitting almost naked, with only her arms still covered by the robe, and the air feels strange but welcome. Her nipples are hard, which is certainly new, but she doesn’t touch them yet. Instead, she brings one hand up to her mouth, gently rubbing two fingertips over her bottom lip. 

She wonders what it would be like to be kissed. 

Slowly, she trails her hand down to her neck like Vanya recommended. It feels nice, her skin soft under her fingers, but she feels no physical reaction from the caress. She’s determined, though, and so she moves her hand down past her collarbones, coming to rest cupping one breast. It feels-- it feels… nice. Strange. 

Her breast is soft under her touch, fitting comfortably in her palm, and she feels _something_ when she squeezes softly. Curious, Grace flicks her thumb over her hard nipple, and she lets out a surprised gasp. It feels nice, it feels _more_ than nice. With surprise and delight, Grace realizes that _this_ is the feeling that she’s never felt before. It’s very strange, experiencing such an intense physical reaction-- for the most part, Grace lives every day feeling very few physical sensations. But this… she pinches her nipple and _yes_ , this is certainly a physical reaction. 

Grace feels something between her legs and she’s more curious than ever before. Still, she waits. She brings her other hand to her chest, touching both breasts at once, pinching both nipples, and Grace is surprised when her hips jerk up. All notion of _waiting_ flees her mind; she feels strange and _good_ between her legs, and she needs to touch it. She’s never felt a _need_ like this before, but here it is, an intense desire to _touch herself_. She feels wild, she feels human-- she _feels_. 

Shifting a little on her couch, Grace spreads her legs and brings one hand between them. She was built to be anatomically correct, like a real human woman in almost every way-- she has all the parts, the breasts and the vagina, but so much else is missing, like body hair and bodily functions. She doesn’t need to eat or drink, she doesn’t have to use the bathroom and she doesn’t menstruate. Only recently has she learned that she can cry. 

And _now_ , Grace learns that her pussy gets wet. 

She parts her inner labia, making a soft noise at that first contact, and she’s _wet_. Not overtly so, not dripping, but undeniably wet. She touches herself lightly, each movement a little shock, spreading the wetness around in fascination. Her mind wanders back to her daughters-- is this how they touch themselves too? She thinks of Vanya, pink-cheeked and giggling, in a robe just like the one Grace is wearing now; she thinks of Vanya touching herself, she thinks of dark pubic hair and breathy little moans, and she thinks that Vanya must be rather quiet when she does this, but a partner could probably give her the confidence to be louder. After all, Vanya always has thrived on praise and attention. 

Grace stops that train of thought, shocked at herself. Vanya is her _daughter_. She’s never thought of her in a sexual context before. Grace has never thought of _anyone_ in a sexual context before. 

Well… there’s certainly no harm in it. 

Grace thinks that Allison must be more confident when she touches herself, more demanding about her desires. Allison and Vanya would work well together, Grace thinks, and then she’s suddenly picturing them both in bed, naked and kissing, tangled together with their hands all over each other. They’ve grown up into such beautiful young women, and it really does make Grace happy that they’re finally acting more like sisters again. Good sisters should always be _close_. 

As she moves her finger again, Grace can tell that she’s getting more wet. Though she’s never done this before, she knows the mechanics of it and knows what _should_ feel good. She rubs her clit with two fingers, and her head falls back and her hips jerk up, and _oh_ , this _does_ feel good. _This_ feeling, this is why Luther and Allison fooled around when they were younger. _This_ is why Klaus snuck out to bring men back. _This,_ this wetness, this ache, this desire inside her, this is why all her children spent most nights touching themselves the entire time they were teenagers. 

Even now, Grace knows that most of them still do it sometimes. By Allison and Vanya’s own admission, they both do this, but Grace already knew that. Every night, she checks on the children before she recharges, and very rarely are they all sound asleep in their beds. She’s heard the gentle creaking of Vanya’s bed frame and muffled moans from Allison’s room. And her boys… they’re not all quiet either. 

Grace keeps touching herself, rubbing her clit in slow circles as she thinks about the things she hears. Five and Luther are usually sound asleep and Ben’s room is usually empty-- Klaus’s room is where the most noise comes from. Though Klaus was always the most insatiable as a child, he rarely touches himself now. There’s very little need for it, when he has Ben. 

Most nights, Grace hears a multitude of noises from Klaus’s bedroom-- the creaking of his bed frame, the murmur of voices, labored breathing and muffled groans, the undisguisable slap of skin on skin. Her boys take good care of each other, which has been a weight off her shoulders. Klaus is sober, Ben is alive, and they’re beautiful together. The noises from Klaus’s room are _beautiful_. 

Grace can feel the pleasure building inside her, she’s hot all over and she can hardly think straight. Her pussy is _dripping_ now, hot and wet, just like a real woman, and it feels _amazing_. Grace has never felt this good before. She moves her fingers faster, pressing harder, and she knows it won’t be much longer now. 

Grace’s thoughts wander to _Diego_. He doesn’t touch himself in bed at night, but she hears him in the shower sometimes. He’s quiet, but he takes his time with it, and she always knows that’s what he’s in there doing when he showers for longer than 15 minutes. Sometimes she lingers by the door and listens-- and sometimes she can hear him biting back moans, she can hear the sound of his hand moving over his hard cock, and once she even heard the slick wet noises of Diego fingering himself open. 

Diego is her _best,_ sweetest boy. She wonders what he looks like when he comes, how his handsome face must contort with pleasure, how his hips must move and his legs must shake. And then she… she wonders how he would touch her. Would he _want_ to touch her? Would he teach her how it feels to kiss? Would his fingers pinch her nipples just hard enough to make her moan? 

Would he get on his knees for her, lick her cunt until she comes on his face? Diego’s a mama’s boy, a _good_ boy, she’s sure he’d do anything she asks of him. 

Grace _feels so much_ all of a sudden, and then she’s _coming_ , a moan ripped from her lips and her thighs shaking as she keeps rubbing herself, and it’s so much and she’s so wet, and then she-- she _squirts_ , wet and messy, hitting her hand and splashing up her stomach, down her legs, onto the floor and onto her couch. Even when that stops, her fingers don’t stop and she comes _again_ , all that pressure inside her releasing in a tide of sweet, sweet pleasure. 

Slowly, Grace comes back to herself, shifting on her couch. She’s so _wet_ , a mess from squirting on herself and so _sticky_ between her thighs. She’ll have to shower now, which is a nice thought-- what a _human_ thing to do, showering after sexual exploits. But the shower can wait until the morning. For now, it’s late, and Grace should probably set herself to recharge. 

As she goes to tie her robe closed once more, a pleased smile on her face, Grace sees something out of the corner of her eye. She looks up, and-- Diego. 

He’s standing just around the corner, wide-eyed and flushed, eyes fixed on her exposed body. 

“Diego, dear, is everything alright?” Grace asks. 

“I-- yeah, M-Mom, I’m fine,” Diego stutters, then bites his lip. Grace assesses him-- his hair is sleep mussed and he’s shirtless, dressed only in a pair of gray sweatpants. “Your hair, it-- you look great.” 

Grace tilts her head, staring at Diego’s crotch. He’s _hard_. 

“Were you watching me, sweetheart?” she asks softly. “It’s alright if you were.” 

“It is?” 

Grace stands up, letting her soft pink robe fall to the floor. Diego’s eyes get _wider_ and he finally steps closer, as if hypnotized by the sight of her. 

“Mom?” he says in a quiet voice as she meets him in the middle. She smiles at her sweet boy, reaching for him to stroke his face with her still-wet fingers. His hands come up too, resting on her waist, so warm against her overheated skin. “Is this okay?” 

“Of course, Diego,” Grace answers, still smiling. “Now kiss me.” 

Diego starts to smile. 

He nods. 

When he kisses her, Grace closes her eyes and presses into it, and it’s even _better_ than she imagined. 


End file.
